Mycroft, Where Are You?
by PrinceThomas
Summary: Mycroft is missing! Car gone, no note! Could he have died! Fortunately for him, when Sherlock is curious and Lestrade is worried, nothing gets in their way. (WARNING: Torturing scene in later chapter!)


**Chapter 1**

Come Looking For Me?

Mycroft Holmes, by all accounts, is a strange man. He could destroy an entire country with a single word, he could take whatever he wanted from whoever, but most of all, he was peculiar because he cared so much about his family. That's why when he stopped checking up on his little brother, Sherlock, Sherlock started to get suspicious. Now by no means does Sherlock mind that he isn't getting physical checkups anymore, he's just… weird-ed out that it's not happening anymore. 'Strange.' He thought. Instead of calls from Mycroft's personal cell, he got texts from disposable phones. Instead of invitations to his mansion, he got an access denial at the front door security.

At a crime scene is when Sherlock finally snapped. He was usually mildly annoyed at most at inconveniences, but this? Sherlock got into major traffic, he was denied access by another policeman before Lestrade welcomed him in, and he had to be physically restrained from kicking a lamp that fell on his foot.

"This is his fault!" Sherlock hissed, looking directly at a security camera and glaring "Do you hear me?! It's your fault! Why don't you come talk to me like a real person instead of stalking with your silly little cameras?!" He yelled angrily.

"Sherlock, is everything okay over there buddy?" Lestrade calmly asked, walking slowly towards the furious detective. "Why don't we just… sit down? Do you want to take a walk?" he suggested

"No! My stupid, coward of a brother refuses to answer me!" Sherlock growled, looking absolutely murderous.

"Whoa there Sherlock, we are already at a crime scene, we don' need to add another body to the count." Lestrade tried again, now a bit closer. Lestrade reached his hand onto Sherlock's shoulder blade and pat him gently. "John? How long has this been going on for?" Lestrade asked, turning his head to John, who was standing a good ten feet away from Sherlock. He wore a wary expression on his face.

"A few weeks now, he's obsessed with finding out what Mycroft is doing that's so important." John explained, making his way to the exit of the room. "I'm going to get some food, Sherlock?"

Sherlock snapped his head in John's direction.

"Do you want anything to eat?" John asked carefully, pulling out his phone to pull up Google.

"No. I'm not. Hungry." Sherlock forced out, his tone sounding as the very definition of restraint.

"Alright, thank you. I'll go get something for me and I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?" John reassured, which he only got a slow nod from his friend. "Okay." John finished, closing the door behind him.

As Lestrade observed Sherlock, he noticed that his shoulders were tense and his face in a permanent scowl. Even when Sherlock moved away and started walking around again, he kept that angry posture about him. Lestrade even had to save a life! He saw Anderson pop his head through the door and open his mouth to speak, but thankfully, Lestrade gave him a look that plainly said that if he spoke, it would be really bad. Sherlock slammed his hand on the wall and whisper-shouted "Father."

"I'm sorry, the father?" Lestrade repeated, seeing now why John was acting so weird around Sherlock. "Is he the killer?"

"Obviously," Sherlock turned to another camera that was on a corner outside of the building. Sherlock opened the window and waited for the camera to turn to him. "I figured it out! Is that what you wanted?!" He shouted, shutting the window forcefully when he finished speaking.

Lestrade felt so bad for Sherlock at this point. Yes, he didn't have any reason to be nosing into something clearly not about him, but he felt like he needed to help somehow. Sherlock was hostile, his brother apparently has been ignoring him, and it hurt him. Lestrade pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he saw the contact name "Mycroft" and pressed call. He knew he shouldn't call that number unless it was an emergency, but he really didn't like seeing Sherlock like this.

"Hello?" A woman responded, Lestrade semi-recognized the voice on the other end. Mycroft's personal assistant?

"Hey, um… May I talk to Mister Holmes please?" Lestrade politely asked her.

"Who?" She replied in a monotone manner. He knew that she knew Mycroft. And Lestrade bet that she knew that he knew. "There is no Mister Holmes on any record." She added

"Really?" Lestrade rhetorically inquired. "No, hypothetically speaking, Mycroft Holmes?"

"No sir, I believe you have the wrong number."

"Hm, I suppose I do… I'm sorry, _Miss Anthea_." Lestrade apologized

"Apology accepted, goodbye." The woman quickly said, and she promptly hung up. This started up the red warning sirens throughout Lestrade's mind.

"What's going on, Sherlock? I'm worried about you. I know it's not my place, but I don't like seeing you like this." Lestrade asks softly, his words like a caring whisper.

Sherlock didn't answer at first, but after a few moments, took a deep breath, and let it out loudly.

"Lestrade, Mycroft's being evasive and he's never evasive. He always visits me once every month. The day depends, but once every month. He never misses a check in. Also, he doesn't use his personal cell phone anymore! All I get is voicemail! He never voicemails me twice in a row! I tried texting him, but he doesn't respond!" Sherlock ranted, getting more and more audibly upset as he kept speaking.

"That is not very nice." Lestrade commented, moving his hand on Sherlock's shoulder up and down his arm slightly. "Have you tried to talk to him face-to-face?"

"Yes! And when I went to his house, his password changed to lock me out! He even left me a note saying that he wouldn't be home for a while!"

"I'm sorry. That sounds very strange, especially to him. Every single time I talked to him, he was obsessed with seeing you safe." Gregory consoled.

"Don't talk like that. That's stupid." Sherlock demanded "You make it sound like he's dead. Not that I would mind if he died…" He added that last part on quickly

"Do you want to go check at his house again? Maybe he went on a trip across the world and you called when he was asleep, and maybe the texts didn't reach through because your data plan doesn't work that well with international communications?" Sherlock nodded solemnly as he let Lestrade squeeze his body into his with his arm.

Suddenly, Sherlock wiggled out of Lestrade's grip, quickly grabbed Lestrade's now free hand, and promptly dragged him out of the house and into the street. Lestrade got a few concerned looks from his fellow policemen assigned to the case. He quickly told Sally Donovan, who was following Lestrade being dragged, to arrest the father of the victim. She nodded and stopped tailgating after receiving her order.

"Taxi!" Sherlock yelled, shooting his free hand up in the air. Thanks to his enviable height, a taxi stopped almost immediately. He handed his phone to the driver and said to him to drive exactly there and he'd pay him double than owed.

"Sherlock, what's going-"

"Shh!" Sherlock interrupted him, the scowl Lestrade was able to remove earlier returning. So, Lestrade shut his mouth for the rest of the ride. But he had enough sense to text John that he and Sherlock had left, and to just go home.

When Lestrade and Sherlock arrived at their destination, it was dark. Lestrade checked his phone's clock… 9:24?! How could it be that late already? But besides that he was able to marvel at the sheer size of the house-no, _castle _he saw. The mansion was a beautiful light brown coloration, for it looked to be made from solid stone. The shrubbery looked well maintained around the borders along the perimeter, and there were beautiful trees by the entrance, on both sides of the staircase that accented how brilliantly carved the handrails were. As Lestrade and Sherlock walked up to the front door, Lestrade ran his hand up the railing, expecting to feel rugged stone, but it was the exact opposite! The grey stone felt smooth to the touch, like a seashell, and framed right in between was the most brilliantly polished wooden door Lestrade had ever seen in his life. As he admired the beauty of the exterior, he noticed Sherlock open a notch in the stone by the door on the right side.

When Sherlock pulled the notch, the stone hinged on itself and opened up to reveal a keypad. The pad looked more or less like a big calculator, all of the numbers on metallic punch buttons below a blue LED light screen. Sherlock pulled Lestrade close and showed him his hand as me punched in the pass-code 3-8-4-9-7-8. INCORRECT PASSCODE. The panel read.

"See? If he won't let me inside the front door, I guess I'll have to go in through the window." Sherlock decided out loud.

"Wait Sherlock no-"Lestrade started in panic, not wanting to break a window, but Sherlock guided him off of the porch and by the left hand side tree. As Sherlock again, showed Lestrade the wall and the windows next to it, then the tree. He moved some branches to reveal another keypad. This one didn't look like the first however. This one was a more bronze color with a deeper yellow colored LED screen.

"If he locked this one, he is, without a shadow of a doubt, dead." Sherlock explained seriously, taking in a sharp breath.

"And why is that? How would you know?" Lestrade asked, watching as Sherlock stared at the keypad

"Mycroft swore on his life that this code would always be the same until he died. This is my secret way in that he installed if I ever needed him and I was under surveillance from someone besides him." Sherlock summarized, pressing in the numbers 3-8, then 5-6, then 5. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before pressing the number 2. As soon as Sherlock tapped that final 2, Lestrade heard a click-Thunk! sound come from the window in front of him. Sherlock smirked in victory, moving to the window and pushing the glass upward to open it.

As Sherlock pushed the window open, he slid inside and signaled Lestrade to do the same. At first, Lestrade was hesitant to possibly break and enter into the most powerful man in Britain's house, but Sherlock looked so sure about his decision, that he followed through as well.

"Whoa… Mycroft lives here all alone?" Lestrade said when Sherlock flicked on a light switch to reveal the beautiful interior decoration! While the walls were as white as snow, the carpeting below them was a deep and very elegant red. As Lestrade's eyes wandered to the walls, he noticed the same level of cleanliness and elegance in the wood. Inside of the wooden outline was a delicate fireplace with a strange symmetrical arrangement of vases on top.

"Yes he does, and believe me, I know from experience that he doesn't like people standing on his pillows." Sherlock answered honestly, watching in enjoyment as Lestrade jumped down from the platform he was on and landed onto the carpet with a loud _thump_.

"Don't tell?" Lestrade joked, Sherlock breathed out a laugh of agreement. "Yeah, I don't wanna get deported quite yet." Lestrade added, looking at Sherlock, who was unlocking the doors from the inside. "Where does Mycroft hide his stuff?" Lestrade pondered to himself,

"Safe? USB? What about-"

"Bedroom." Sherlock interjected, suddenly dashing up the stairs and stopping at a doorframe to harshly kick it. Lestrade panicked and bolted to where Sherlock was. "He left a spare master key up here for me." He explained as Lestrade looked at the wooden frame above him to see a dull gold item, probably the key Sherlock was talking about, peaking above.

"Whoa, maybe instead of minor property damage, we just find something to push it off?" Lestrade offered insightfully, at this point just wanting to lessen the charges that he absolutely piling up against him.

Sherlock groaned "Fine. Just be quick about it then."

He peeked into the hallway, and oh! A suit of armor just a bit up the hall! Thank heavens for Mycroft's strange taste in décor! When Lestrade reached the suit, he noticed how pristine it looked. 'Probably polished often…' Lestrade noted 'I guess all this is sort of like him; elegant and old-fashioned… Now that I think about it, he fits right in here!' Lestrade smiled softly at the mental image of Mycroft gracefully moving throughout the hallways.

"LESTRADE, IF YOU DON'T COME BACK HERE IN THE NEXT FOURTEEN SECONDS I'M GOING BACK TO ORIGINAL PLAN!" Sherlock shouted, and that got Lestrade moving now, yanking the sword from its sheath with little to no sense of carefulness, and ran back to Sherlock as if his life depended on it.

"I got a sword, will this work?" Lestrade asked, but Sherlock gave him no response. Only a doubtful expression that screamed as loud as Sherlock just had 'Quit daydreaming.' So, Lestrade got to thinking up a plan. Well, he could see a bit of the key from the side… "Maybe…?" Lestrade thought out loud, carefully placing the sword up against the frame and pushing the key with the tip of the sword. Up and up the gold key raised, then, it revealed a hole that the tip of the sword penetrated with ease. "Gotcha!" Lestrade announced pulling the sword away from the frame, along with the key, sliding down the blade of the sword as gravity now had its way with the little thing.

"Hmm…" Sherlock sighed, taking the offered key from the sword.

"Do you think he actually _uses_ these things?" Gregory asked, inspecting the sword now. He asked because the blade was actually _really_ sharp.

"When he's feeling theatrical about an execution, yes." Sherlock explained, intentionally leaving his answer absurd enough to be a blatant lie, but Lestrade didn't know how right Sherlock was. Sherlock snickered to himself as he deducted that Lestrade was genuinely thinking about whether or not Mycroft actually straight up elegantly shanks people to kill them.

When Sherlock fitted the beautiful antique key into the equally elegant lock on the door, and with a dainty *click!*, the door was opened. As Sherlock walked through the door, Lestrade peeked through after him, just to make sure… It was just another hallway. Lestrade didn't know what he actually expected to be behind that door.

"Sherlock, is there anything to avoid?" Lestrade asked, keeping his hand on his gun.

"Nothing too big, security cameras, touch IDs, and maybe some housekeepers, but I doubt they'll be here at this time of night."

"Ah. Okay."

Sherlock led Lestrade down the extravagant corridor and guided him about the twists and turns. If Lestrade didn't know any better, he thought he might have been in a labyrinth! All of the paintings the two men passed gave a sense of unnerving, which Lestrade countered by keeping a firm hand on his gun. Until he reached a door at the end, Sherlock said nothing.

Sherlock stuck the key in and turned. *click!* the magnificent door opened. Lestrade was absolutely amazed by what was apparently Mycroft's bedroom. Everything was so… big. The sheer size of the bedroom was at least _twice_ the size of his entire flat! And the colors! The room was only illuminated by the moonlight shining through the giant glass windows that surely could find their place in St. Peter's Cathedral! The crisp and fine shadows the deep golden curtains caused made the room, if it was even possible, more elegant. The walls were a deep royal red color, accented by golden lace-like patterns on the edges and borders that shone extravagantly in the places where the moon graced its light. Lestrade turned his head to the left to see something straight out of a fairy tale for a bed. The king sized (maybe even bigger) bed was also draped in red, but a more vibrant shade than the walls, which were a more muted color. The sheets and duvet was tucked in tightly, and the pillows were all uniformly stacked. The deep black reminded Lestrade of a black hole, accenting the blood red covers beautifully. Lestrade turned his head to see a white marble cut of the carpet in place for a fireplace, which had almost brand new wood in it, and at the foot of the fireplace was a comfortable looking leather chair and a beautiful little table, which was bare. The whole room had a subtle feeling of loneliness and solidarity. To the sides of the fireplace were two doors, identical to each other by the looks of them. Lestrade let a sigh of wonder escape his mouth. He could never live here alone; it was just too big…

"This is it. I'll search the main room, you take the closet." Sherlock ordered, walking around with what Lestrade _knew _was impatience… or more likely, anxiousness. If_ he _lost contact with his sibling, he'd get antsy too.

"Alright." Lestrade responded, heading to the nearest door inside the giant room.

"That's the bathroom." Sherlock corrected from the other side of the room, without even looking at Lestrade.

"Give me a break; I've never been here before!" Lestrade smiled, walking to the other side of the fireplace to the other door. When he opened it, he knew for a matter of fact that he'd get lost. The closet was humungous! But, being the determined man he Lestrade is, he stared on the suit jackets first.

First jacket. It was pitch black and in pristine condition, but nothing.

Second jacket. Deep navy blue, also impeccably well taken care of, but nothing.

Third jacket. Another navy one. Nothing.

Fourth jacket. Nothing.

Fifth jacket. Nope.

Sixth jacket. Still nothing.

Seventh. Really, how many jackets does a guy need?!

Eighth. God have mercy.

Ninth. Oh come ON.

Tenth. Guess what! Nothing.

Eleventh. Noth-wait. There's something in the inner breast pocket!

Lestrade took the thing out of the pocket to reveal that it was a notebook.

"Sherlock! I found something!" Lestrade loudly announced, running out of the closet while waving the journal in the air. Sherlock ran over to Lestrade and snatched the book out of his hand and opened it, skimming the pages over. Lestrade watched as Sherlock kept flipping pages, than closing the book, and doing it all again. Out of the corner of his eye though, he saw a figure, a silhouette of a person.

"SHERLOCK GET BACK!" Lestrade shouted, shoving Sherlock behind him protectively and pulling his gun out. "WHO ARE YOU?" He yelled at the figure in the shadows. The figure moved out of the shadows which their hands up and a smile. "Anthea?" Lestrade asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes, that would be my name." She confirmed as she her hands by her sides slowly when Lestrade put his gun away.

"I thought you didn't know a 'Mycroft Holmes'." Lestrade said with a bit of spite in his voice. She averted her eyes.

"Detective Inspector, I know you're upset, but I had to say that. I was surrounded by the people that banished him in the first place." She explained

"Sorry, what?! Why and who would banish Mycroft?!" Lestrade asked angrily, and Sherlock had quite the annoyed expression gracing his face too.

"Mycroft has been banished due to a scandal he was at the centre of. It wasn't his fault, but the other person he was involved with twisted everything against him and now he's been gone for a month while I have been handling his work."

"No! That's impossible!" Lestrade denied, his rage fueled by astonishment and surprise.

"I'm afraid it's true." Anthea confirmed, "If Mister Holmes" she motioned to Sherlock "hadn't told me what you two were doing, I wouldn't have been able to come."

Suddenly, Sherlock piped up, and in a serious tone, said "Lestrade, Anthea, pack your bags, we're going to France." Needless to say, the two gave Sherlock a confused look. "Look, right here!" He exclaimed, showing them a page in the notebook that read

Eurus, France (BDX), 15/2

"Quick question, what's your-us?" Lestrade asked after inspecting the paper.

"Eurus." Anthea corrected "she is the one that threw everything onto Mycroft. Also, due to all of the work I have to do, I cannot go with you to France. To be entirely honest, I do not know how Mister Holmes did everything he did every day. I'm kept up until midnight almost every night."

"Then Lestrade, let's go." Sherlock ordered, which sounded commanding to an untrained ear, but the sheer desperation hidden in Sherlock's voice was almost heart shattering.

"I'll go home and arrange the stuff." Lestrade assured, patting on Sherlock's shoulder and making his way toward the door. "Could you two figure out something?" Lestrade motioned to both Sherlock and Anthea.

"Right." Sherlock responded

"Yes sir." Anthea nodded, 100% ready and willing to get Mycroft back on the job.

END OF CHAPTER 1

**CHAPTER 2**

"Sherlock, could you be _any_ slower?!" Lestrade asked sarcastically, banging on Sherlock's bedroom door. It was the next morning; Lestrade had packed his things into a backpack and headed over to 221B at around 7:45.

"I'm getting packed!" Sherlock shot back in an annoyed tone.

"Sherlock, you've been 'getting packed' for _thirty minutes_!" John piped in, walking from the kitchen to the hallway with two cups of coffee; one for him, and one for Sherlock's handler travelling buddy. John nudged Lestrade with the mug softly to get his attention.

"Hm? Oh, thanks John." Gregory smiled, taking the cup and sipping the hot coffee inside. "Mm, that's good… What is this?" He asked, taking another drink.

"I honestly don't know, it said 'coffee' at the store, so I got it." John laughed

"Honestly, I do that too." Gregory comforted "It doesn't even have to say 'coffee' on it, I'll just say to myself 'oh, this looks like coffee!' and just go get it-" Lestrade cut himself off "Sherlock, hurry up!" He yelled, banging on the door.

"I'm just finishing up!" He defended through the door. Lestrade wasn't having any of this and burst through the door to reveal Sherlock holding two blue button-up shirts, one a deep cerulean and the other was a more sapphire. Sherlock gave Lestrade a quick once over, and went back to staring at his shirts in his hands. "It's rude to just burst into someone's room without permission, you know." Sherlock calmly stated.

'This little mother-'

"Greg." John cut off his thought. "Your coffee." Gregory looked at his hand with the mug in it and the liquid was shaking violently inside the cup due to the tremors in his hand. John took the mug and nudged him towards Sherlock.

"You've been in here for thirty minutes over shirts?!" He roared, stomping over to Sherlock and moving out of the way and peering into his suitcase. He only had his trousers packed.

His trousers.

No other shirts, no underwear, no emnothing/em.

Just

His trousers.

Lestrade groaned and took off his backpack that he had easily packed his clothes in compared to Sherlock's extra large duffel bag. He unzipped he bag to reveal the majority of the backpack still empty with all of Lestrade's clothes still packed in. Lestrade shoves Sherlock aside and threw his packed trousers in the backpack, snatched the shirts from the other man and threw those in haphazardly, much to Sherlock's visible dismay and annoyance. Lestrade then made his way to Sherlock's dresser and yanks the drawers open and slammed them shut when he didn't find the thing he was looking for. "If I find drugs in here while I'm at it Sherlock, em_ooh_/em you are gonna get it!" Lestrade promised, pulling from the poor dresser three pairs of underwear, a roll of socks, and picked up some extra shoes that were lying beside the dresser and throwing them in the backpack. em _Now_/em the backpack was teetering of maybe 93% full. "There. You're packed. Now let's go!"

Sherlock sighed in irritation, but he followed Lestrade out of his room.

"I've got the plane tickets in the side pocket-oh hey Anthea." Lestrade explained

"Hello Detective." She greeted as she texted on her blackberry quickly.

"John, could you help Anthea with our little rescue mission?" Sherlock asked, with a bit of a softer voice.

"Sorry, what?" John asked in confusion. He looked at Anthea, then Sherlock and Lestrade, then back to Anthea. "Isn't she a bit… higher caliber than me? What would I do?" He added

"You… can help with the usual workload I get? It's mostly non-verbal negotiations, but there are a lot of them." Anthea suggested, grimacing at the end of her statement. She almost backed herself up with work yesterday by not being in Mycro- em_ her_/em office all day.

"Isn't that illegal?" John questioned, taking a sip of his coffee.

"A bit, yeah, but who are they going to tell? My boss? I don't have one." Anthea confirmed, sarcastically adding on the last bit to make John more lenient to work with her.

Lestrade took his coffee cup from John, getting his attention, and then Lestrade stared at him with a look that screamed 'please help us. We can't do this alone.' "C'mon, it'll be like you're not even there." Lestrade borderline begged. He never begged, but if he lost one of his best friends and his… What was Mycroft to him? Lestrade liked the way he held himself, the way he talked, the way he acted, and-… crush. He didn't want to lose his friend and em_his friend's brother_/em.

John sighed and looked down. "You got me!" He announced, then he looked at Anthea. "Where and when do we start?" The entire room lit up.

"Hell yeah mate, next pub trip is on me!" Lestrade gleefully said. That lit John's face up.

"Yes sir!" John replied, clapping Lestrade on the shoulder. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What some people will do for free things." He muttered.

"Okay, I'll text you when we get to the airport, when we've landed, and whenever, alright?" Lestrade asked for confirmation, gesturing to himself and Sherlock before outstretching his hand for Anthea to take.

"I'll be sure to update you when we come across anything." She assured, shaking Lestrade's offered hand before letting the two men pass.

The two made their way to the door, turning to John and Anthea, John walked towards them while Anthea texted. John made his way over to Gregory and gave him a quick hug goodbye, while Sherlock's hug was maybe only a second or two longer, but Lestrade inwardly 'aww-ed' when he caught Sherlock's pale cheeks turn a rose petal pink. "Alright you two; don't have too much fun without me!" John teased, opening the door and closing it behind them as well.

Lestrade led the way to his car that was parked outside 221B, letting Sherlock get in the passenger side first before walking around to the driver's side and getting in.

"Right, the airport is a good 30 minute drive from here and our flight is in an hour and a half." Lestrade informed Sherlock, who stared out the windshield blankly.

"Obviously." He murmured, not really paying attention to Lestrade.

So, without further delay, Lestrade started his car, and off they were on their adventure!

Lestrade and Sherlock stayed silent for the most part, letting only their breathing fill the gaps where conversation could start. That is, until traffic piled up. What, it was around 8:00 and people needed to get to work! Lestrade groaned in annoyance as he pumped the breaks. Then, he looked at Sherlock, who was still staring out the windshield, still silent, still blank faced. 'It must be tough,' Lestrade thought to himself. 'The person closest to him suddenly was yanked from his life… I bet he's thinking about it.'

Indeed Sherlock was. He was in a contemplative state, thinking about how Mycroft must have been in big trouble if he lost his job while working with this 'Eurus' girl… He didn't remember a woman named Eurus that he came in contact with… Did em_he_ /em do all this? Was it all em_his_/em fault that Mycroft left him? Thankfully, Lestrade's discomfort with the situation led to him speaking up.

"So Sherlock… What's your favorite color? I'm guessing blue, am I right?" Lestrade suddenly asked, jolting Sherlock from his mind.

"Why would you care about such an insignificant detail about me?" He responded sharply, still a bit hurt at his own words.

"Because even though we've known each other for so long, I don't know essentially anything about you! What's your favorite music type? Do you like animals? What kind of alcohol do you like? I don't know any of that!" Lestrade complained playfully, nudging Sherlock's arm with his free hand, which wasn't on the wheel. Not that it mattered that Lestrade's hand was on the steering wheel though, since they were in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "Again, it doesn't really matter what color I like or anything of the sort, so why would you want to know?"

"Because I want to." Lestrade stated simply, turning his head directly and looking Sherlock deep in his eyes. "Listen here em_Spock_/em, I like to know what my friends like, alright? And I've known you for over six years now! I just… want to know what makes you smile. And don't give me that I-don't-smile crap, I've seen you when you think nobody else is looking!"

The younger man finally relented, shaking his head at why Lestrade would concern himself with this useless trivia. "My favorite color, is indeed, blue, I like classical music, dogs are m favorite animal, and I enjoy whiskey on occasion." Sherlock answered honestly, albeit, with a bit of an attitude.

"You're a dog person?" Lestrade laughed sincerely "I thought you'd be more of a cat person, like me."

"Yes well, dogs are significantly more trainable and useful than cats." Sherlock countered.

"I guess so, but have you ever seen a cat get scared by its reflection before? It's the funniest thing ever... I'm actually thinking about getting a little kitten myself." Lestrade mischievously argues.

"Why would you get a cat?" Sherlock inquired, acting bored on the outside, but a little interested on Lestrade's motives.

"'Cause, cats are cute, entertaining, they are low-maintenance, you know, all of that good stuff." Lestrade admitted.

"I see." Sherlock mused, thinking up what cat Lestrade would most likely get. Lestrade turned his head back to the road, immensely pleased with himself that he got Sherlock's mind off of the horrible things that are happening to him.

A few minutes later, when they're out of the annoying busy traffic, Lestrade moves his hand slowly to the radio buttons on his dash. "Mind if I play some music?" He asked softly, as not to disturb the now, ever so slightly, nodding off Sherlock.

"It's your car…" Sherlock said. Lestrade took that as a yes, but before he turned on the radio, he turned his volume all the way down before turning the radio on.

Lestrade flicked through the channels with the volume on next to nothing until he found a station that was playing classical music, and he turned the volume up slightly, watching happily as the corners of Sherlock's mouth twitched upward. Lestrade drove quietly the rest of the, what was supposed to be 30 minute drive, was actually an hour drive. He texted John saying that he was at the airport and nudged Sherlock awake.

"Sherlock, it's time to go." Lestrade whispered, nudging Sherlock's arm softly.

"Mmm, what?" Sherlock groaned, a little groggy from being ripped from sleep's clutches.

"It's time to go and board the plane. C'mon buddy." Lestrade coaxed, unbuckling Sherlock's seatbelt as if he were a sleepy two-year-old.

"Okay…" Sherlock sighed, getting out of the car and standing next to Lestrade.

Lestrade walked with Sherlock into the airport and sat the sleepy detective in the waiting chairs while the policeman walked into the on-site store. When Lestrade entered the store, he scanned the food aisles quickly and eventually picked up two six-cookie packs of Oreos, and a bag of sour cream and onion chips. Once Lestrade paid for his food, he thanked the cashier and returned to the grumpy Sherlock Holmes, his knees in his chair.

"Hey Sherlock, do you want something to eat before the flight gets called?" Lestrade asked, fishing out a pack of Oreos for Sherlock and his chips.

"I'm not hungry." Sherlock declined, "Besides, food and flights shouldn't mix in the first place…"

"Alright, suit yourself." Lestrade said, putting the Oreos in his backpack and opened up his chip bag.

As Lestrade ate, he watched in amusement as Sherlock looked at his food. He snickered and took a chip out and handed it to Sherlock, borderline ordering him to eat at least em_one_/em. Sherlock huffed and refused, but Lestrade was determined to get Sherlock to get something in his stomach. Lestrade kept bugging him to eat, but Sherlock kept denying. Then Lestrade heard Sherlock's stomach growl quietly, making both men freeze.

"How long has it been since you last ate?" Lestrade asked, Sherlock shrugged dismissively. "Sherlock, eat. The. Chip." Lestrade ordered, now a lot more serious about his intentions. Sherlock shut his lips tightly and turned his head defiantly. 'what a child.' Lestrade commented to himself.

"Lestrade, honestly this is stupi-" Sherlock was cut off by a chip forced in between his lips.

"Eat it." He ordered. "I'm not going to drag a malnourished five year old around France." So Sherlock, knowing he was beat, disdainfully ate the food that was placed at his mouth. Once Sherlock swallowed, Lestrade pat him on the back softly. "I'm not letting my friend starve because he doesn't want to eat. I care about you Sherlock… even if you can be a petulant child sometimes." Lestrade explained, giving Sherlock a weak smile. The younger man pouted and kept his head down.

"You're not my father…" He mumbled, crossing his arms in an act of independence, much to the similarity of a rebellious teenager who was mad at his parent for embarrassing him.

"I'm about to be." Lestrade threatened nonsensically, elbowing Sherlock in the arm gently.

"What does that even mean?" Sherlock said, now actually looking at Lestrade.

"No idea. But if you keep this up, we're both going to find out." He replied, reaching into the chip bag again and eating a few more before holding the bag next to Sherlock and shaking it to get Sherlock's attention on it. "It's either eat or be fed Sherlock. You're twenty-nine, I em hope /em you know how to feed yourself be now." Sherlock groaned, taking a couple of chips from the bag, not wanting to go through that ridiculous power fight. This pattern of Lestrade eating a bit then tipping the bag for Sherlock repeated until the bag was empty.

"I can see why Mycroft likes you so much. You're like a second him." Sherlock whispered to himself quietly.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that, what?" Lestrade inquired, now immensely curious about what Sherlock murmured. He only heard the words "Mycroft" and "second". "Do you know where Mycroft is?" He reiterated.

"No." Sherlock stiffly replied.

Before Lestrade could even respond, their flight got called. The two went over to the security line after throwing the trash away. Lestrade set his backpack on the conveyer belt and stood behind Sherlock as they waited for the security check to get to them. They got through security fairly easily, albeit minus the tug on Sherlock's back that Lestrade had to do when the guard 'challenged' him. (The guard just asked him to step away from another person, who was carrying a knife. And oh boy was that a fun experience...) and made it onto the waiting area with all of the other passengers. Sherlock looked absolutely murderous because of all the people standing too close to him. Once they were called onto the plane, the attitude Sherlock had only got worse. Sherlock and Lestrade sat next to each other, Sherlock taking the window seat and Lestrade taking the aisle one per Sherlock's request.

"Lestrade, I'm bored." Sherlock whined, already a bit miffed that he had only a little bit of leg room.

The policeman sighed and pointed out the window. "You got the window seat; go find some pictures in the clouds." And went back to thinking about what kinds of risks were going to be 'If Mycroft was fine, and we just burst in without notice, we'd probably get chewed out at the most… What if he actually strong is/strong in trouble? Terrorists? No, he's dealt with those before… What about that Eurus woman? What if she has him bound up and she's doing horrible things to him! What if she killed him?! What if he's in major trou- no, that's jumping to conclusions. Mycroft is missing, I know that much. Sherlock seems to know that he's alive, so he's probably alive… right?'/em

"Lestrade, since you haven't already pre-booked a hotel room, where are we going to stay?" Sherlock inquired with an abundance of attitude in his voice.

"I don't know. Do you have any family over in France?"

"My mother has a small summer house in Grenoble. I can already tell you have a sister in Bordeaux."

"Yeah, she's really sweet. She's a few years younger than me, brown hair and eyes, works at a small bakery near her apartment and she is amazingly good at baking and cooking."

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgement and settled into a semi-curled up state before slipping into his 'mind palace' or as Lestrade affectionately refers to it as, 'Sherlock's thinking cap'. As soon as they both got comfortable, and Lestrade pulled out his phone, he felt a tap on his shoulder. So of course, Lestrade looked up at the person, a middle-aged woman to be specific, was standing in the aisle by him.

"Yes ma'am, can I help you?" Lestrade asked politely, giving her a genuine smile.

"Can you switch seats with me and my son? He's bored and wants to look out the windows." She responded in a sickly sweet voice. Lestrade looked at her side to see a boy around 9 or 10 standing next to her.

"Oh, I'm sorry ma'am, my friend," he motioned to Sherlock, who looked wholly uncomfortable with the little space, "is already squished in the seat he is in and we paid for these seats. I'm sorry." Lestrade explained.

The woman's face turned sour and she stuck her hands to her sides. "Please switch seats with us, I'm a single mother who is trying to give my baby a good vacation!" She insisted.

"I understand that ma'am, but I really can't do that." Lestrade tried to reason, suddenly realizing that he was dealing with another crazy person. Fortunately, he's had a few overprotective parents come to his office and complain that their child could 'em never commit a crime! They're a perfect angel!/em' "Please leave us alone, we're a bit tired…"

"That is emso/em rude! You should have some more respect for others and their needs!" She complained, her son interjecting with an annoying whine "Mommy! I want to sit!"

Sherlock finally snapped back to reality and stared at the lady for a few moments, Lestrade noted that he usually stood still coming out of his thinking place to reintegrate into reality. He opened his mouth to speak, but Lestrade held up his hand to stop him.

"Look what you did, you made my son cry! You monster!" The woman yelled, motioning to her child, who was in fact, not crying, but in fact playing on his mother's phone that he had snuck from her pocket.

"Ma'am your son isn't-"

"Don't tell me how my son is feeling you psychopath! My brother is a police officer and he will have you arrested!" She cut Lestrade off. Lestrade rolled his eyes at her police comment.

Fortunately, a lovely flight attendant walked up to the commotion. He asked if there was a problem and the mother jumped at the occasion to talk.

"Oh thank goodness! These men took our seats and refuse to move!" She cried, looking absolutely pathetic.

The flight attendant looked at the woman, her child, then Lestrade and Sherlock.

"We were here first and paid for these seats, I still have the ticket on my phone." Lestrade explained, calmly taking his phone from his lap. But of course the woman had something to say about that!

"That's my phone! How dare you! He stole my phone!"

Sherlock started bouncing his leg out of anxiousness. He leaned into Lestrade and murmured "Lestrade get this woman away from me or I'll do it."

The flight attendant sighed and gave Lestrade a look that plainly said 'I've dealt with idiots like this before' and turned to the lady. "Oh! That's your phone? Sir, could you hand the phone back to her?" Lestrade complied uneasily, but gave the woman his phone. "Now, may I see your ticket?" The attendant asked which made the woman freeze.

"He said he would switch with us!" The woman lied quickly.

"No I didn't sir; I explicitly said that I couldn't switch with her because of the lack of leg room." Lestrade explained.

"May I see the phone ma'am and does it have a passcode?" the attendant asked, easily receiving the phone from the lady and pressing the home button and showing the lock screen to reveal a picture that Lestrade took of John and Sherlock in 221B with Sherlock in his chair with the funny hat on and pouting and John mid-laugh while sitting in his chair. "Oh, do you know the man in the window seat?" the attendant asked, referring to Sherlock after showing her the lock screen photo.

The lady shook her head "He changed the wallpaper!" She insisted, but the attendant gave Lestrade's phone back to its rightful owner. The attendant gave the woman a stern look and pointed to her empty seats and said in a no-nonsense voice;

"If you don't stop harassing these men, I will have to ask you to please follow me where I will have my manager repeat the rules of this flight that I explained before we took off." The woman finally huffed and backed off and Lestrade thanked the attendant profusely. "It's no big deal sir; we have many guests like that unfortunately."

"I get a lot of them in my line of work too, I know the feeling." Lestrade sympathized and bid his quick goodbye to the nice hero of a flight attendant.

Sherlock kept bouncing his leg though and he added on a new curious action to the sequence: gripping his inner-arms tightly. He looked too tense to let Lestrade feel comfortable.

"Sherlock, you okay?" He asked quietly so that nobody would overhear. Sherlock nodded quickly and turned his head to the window to stare at the clouds. Lestrade didn't like that answer, but after meeting that emr/entitledparent/em, he was a bit uneasy too. So, Lestrade unlocked his phone and started reading work e-mails and scrolling with his left hand. He moved his right hand, that was closest to Sherlock, onto the detective's shoulder and pat it comfortingly. Sherlock said nothing, but minutely leaned into the touch, unbeknownst to Lestrade.

'He's unnaturally parental and protective of me… How stupid…' Sherlock mused to himself as he slipped into his mind palace to relieve the stress that horrible woman had caused. As he shut his eyes, he imagined John sitting in his chair in 221B and smiling at him.

em'Hello Sherlock, tough day?' "John" asked sincerely, getting out of his chair to greet Sherlock.

'There was a horrible woman on the plane. She started yelling and accusing Lestrade of stealing our seats.' He responded, meeting John in the middle of their flat.

'That's terrible, did she hurt you?'

'No, she just yelled at Lestrade and tried to steal his phone.'

'Must have been stressful. You need some comfort?'

'Yes. strongPlease. /strong'

"John" made his way into Sherlock's personal space and gave him a hug. It felt so… strong warm/strong… If Sherlock didn't know any better, he'd think that he was actually being hugged. So, Sherlock hugged back tightly and let out all of his insecurity onto "John", so much so that he started shaking uncontrollably in "John's" arms.

'John, she could have gotten violent what would I have done? What if she hit me? What if she hit Lestrade? John, I was so scared…' Sherlock admitted, clawing at "John's" clothes in a desperate attempt to hold "John" closer./em

On the outside, Lestrade was still messing around on his phone


End file.
